


Straw Man

by aralias



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, M/M, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hornblower suggests a game of strip whist on the Hotspur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straw Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the 'poker/strip poker' square in my trope_bingo card and also for asthenie_vd who suggested that strip poker could easily be strip whist.

Hornblower was a clever man. It did not, therefore, take him long to realise that, as he was by far the best player and also one of the richest aboard the Hotspur, he might soon find any games of whist he suggested caused resentment amongst his officers. Losing could be occasionally be permitted, as could losing money, but an evening that promised both together was not one any rational man would look forward to. 

Whist was one of the few pleasures Hornblower allowed himself and he did not want to give it up, but neither did he want to upset the men he had to rely on daily. Betting with chips was possible solution, but one he knew was difficult to put much store by. He therefore suggested a variation on the betting structure that he had learnt at Kingston: one item of clothing lost per round. They were all naval men, used to stripping down in confined quarters and laughing at each other, so everyone agreed readily. 

As he was a clever man and one who had played whist many times with this particular set of officers, it also did not take Hornblower long to release that Lieutenant Bush would be completely naked by, at the latest, the end of the second rubber. But this thought came sufficiently after the first that he felt it could not be considered an influencing factor in a plan proposed as an antidote to mutiny. 

The thought did, however, come quickly enough for him to arrange for Foreman and Orrock to be called on deck at eight bells. This would be, Hornblower estimated, about ten minutes before the second rubber had ended. In fact, it was more like five minutes – he had not anticipated Orrock would have a fist of trumps and declare the third round over after just two tricks. But still, it was close enough. There could have been no third rubber anyway as Bush had nothing left to bet with, but, with four glasses of wine inside him, he seemed cheerfully resigned to this fate, particularly since he was not called on deck yet. Foreman, meanwhile, was forced to leave the party with his stockings in the pocket of his greatcoat and his shirt and waistcoat hurriedly pulled on. Orrock was in much the same state, though he had managed to keep his stockings. The door thumped shut behind them. Nobody would enter without knocking and announcing themselves. 

“I think this is yours, sir,” Bush said, leaning across the table with Hornblower’s neckerchief in his hand. He grinned, drunk. 

“Ah yes,” Hornblower said grinning back. “Thank you, Mr Bush.” 

“And the rest is mine,” Bush said, drawing the rest of the clothes on the table towards him like a pile of coins. “No. Wait. This vest is Orrock’s. _Mr Orrock!_ ” he bellowed, twisting his head to yell back into the ship. He paused. “I suppose he’s gone,” he said at a conversational volume and threw the shirt into a corner as he stood with the intention of dressing. 

“Your Spanish scars have healed well,” Hornblower observed as more of Bush’s torso was revealed, crisscrossed with lines of white and pink. This was the first time he’d seen the scars since Kingston. They had had sex more recently, but it had always been over quickly and both men had kept their uniforms on, as was only practical. The whist game had been an excuse to change that without revealing his weak desire to make sure everything was well and that Bush would not simply collapse on deck one day, splitting open at his poorly-sewn seams.

Bush looked down at himself, as though to be sure of his answer. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t really notice them any more, sir, to tell you the truth. This is the only one that ever gives me any trouble,” he said, indicating the short mark by his hip where a Spanish blade had almost punctured his kidney, “and then only in winter.”

Hornblower rose from his seat. “May I–?”

“Sir?” Bush said, uncertain what was being asked until Hornblower had crossed to his side of the table. Hornblower moved his hand slightly closer to the scar Bush had indicated and looked up at him. 

“Yes,” Bush said softly, his mood entirely changed. “ _Sir,_ ” he said, like an endearment, as Hornblower’s fingertips moved gently across the raised skin. It was soft, unlike the rest of his skin, and warm. Next to the scar, Bush’s cock began to harden. 

Without asking further permission, Hornblower moved his hand to the longer scar at the bottom of Bush’s ribcage and traced it upwards around his side. _I thought you were going to die of these wounds,_ Hornblower thought as he sank to his knees. _I thought I would lose the only person I care for._ He did not say it, because it was not the sort of thing that straightforward Bush would want to hear, but he did press a kiss into the scar that Bush had said was troublesome, and then lick gently along its length. 

Bush gave a low murmur of pleasure. Hornblower smiled into his skin and looked up at him. 

“Would you please sit down, Mr Bush?” he asked and Bush obediently sank into his whist chair again, his legs outstretched. Hornblower moved into the space between them and he took Bush’s cock in his mouth. He kept his hand pressed lightly against the scar as he worked. 

Bush came quickly as he usually did – as efficient in this as in everything. Hornblower swallowed Bush’s seed and sat back on his haunches. Bush was looking down at him, a lazy smile on his face. It was possible, Hornblower thought, that Bush already knew how he felt and did not mind it. Suddenly Bush laughed and the bottom dropped out of Hornblower’s stomach. 

“Is something funny?”

“It’s nothing, sir,” Bush said. “Only that I told Buckland that I would never like or understand whist. I expect I now owe him ten shillings.” 

“I’m sure that will be a great comfort to him,” Hornblower said. “Great men have retired on less.”

“It would be more,” Bush said, “but I still don’t understand it.” 

He smiled, stood and started to dress.


End file.
